


To Feel Guilt and Fear and Hope and to Feel Free

by thishasnomeaning



Series: To Live a Life of Never-Ending Pleasure [2]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Domestic Violence, Drug-Induced Sex, Freedom, Gen, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 16:36:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7515392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thishasnomeaning/pseuds/thishasnomeaning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Erasmus freedom was this. Freedom was the forest. Scary and wild and quite possibly deadly. And yet. There was a small smile on Erasmus’ lips. He had no idea what would cause him to smile. Except for insanity maybe. Or, and that was a daring thought, possibilities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Feel Guilt and Fear and Hope and to Feel Free

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I'd write a sequel to 'To Live a Life of Never-Ending Pleasure' but now I did. It's basically break-up fic because I believe that fits the direction the other fic was going in best. The situation gets worse for Erasmus but there is a hopeful end. I'm also thinking about maybe writing a third part.

Five years after Erasmus had arrived in Bazal, fire broke out in the palace.

 

It was late at night. Torveld didn’t want him to stay in his bed with him so he was heading back to his own chamber, accompanied by two guards.

At first Erasmus heard someone scream. Then he noticed the smell. And he ran. Mindlessly. Out and away. Fire. Fire was the only thing on his mind.

Being branded. Twice. It didn’t feel like it was a thing that happened years ago. Erasmus saw it happening again, felt the hot iron on his skin. The pain. The mocking of the pride he took in his obedience. The moment he realized that all his training would be in vain now that his beauty was tainted if not gone. Erasmus felt sick and he couldn’t move, but people were dragging him along, to save his life or to prevent him from blocking the way.

In the five years he had spent in the palace of Bazal Erasmus had never went anywhere unguarded. In Patras slave training was neither as thorough nor did it start as early as in Akielos, so slaves were more likely to attempt to flee. They weren’t more successful, though. The thick palace walls and well-trained guards took care of that.

During the first months of his stay supervision had been unusually subtle in his case. He had been able to pretend that he was heading to the library on his own and it had almost felt like freedom. Or at least he had thought it felt like freedom. He had no real idea what freedom was, after all.

But then he had done something incredibly stupid and entirely unsuitably for his position. From then on his travelling through the palace had been restricted to what was strictly necessary and a team of at least two guards had been watching his every step very closely.

Now, no one cared where Erasmus was headed. Everyone was busy enough with running for their own lives. His guards had run off in opposing directions. One outside of the palace, much faster than Erasmus was able to run. The other one to the place where he lived, presumably to fetch his wife and children.

And then Erasmus stood in a crowd. On a meadow outside of the palace walls. Still, people paid no attention to him. They were looking out for loved ones, some were shouting or screaming and some seemed to be dead.

From what he could tell, the members of the royalty seemed to be mostly safe but Erasmus couldn’t spot many of his fellow slaves in the crowd. It was no wonder: Most of them would have been at the harem and the doors to that place were kept tightly shut at all times.

And then Erasmus realized, _truly_ realized that he was standing on a meadow. Outside the palace walls. It was the first time he saw those walls from outside since that terrible night when he, _a slave_ had been foolish enough to tell Torveld, _a prince of Patras_ , that he wanted to marry him.

There was a cool breeze feeding air to the fire in the palace. In the distance Erasmus could see the wood. It looked dark. Like a good place to hide. Erasmus knew: If he didn’t run now he would never be able to.

And Erasmus ran.

Being in the forest was strange. Strange and dark and weirdly calm after all voices of all the people. Erasmus had never been in a forest before, not really, not all on his own and on his bare feet and far from a road. It didn’t feel like a thing he liked. It was scary. Way less scary than the fire, but still scary.

 

Once he had come to this country with hope in his heart. He had been the happiest he’d ever been. Proud of finally being able to play the role that had been laid out for him since childhood and that he had believed lost to him forever, back in Vere. He remembered hoping for someone like Torveld to come and save him. It had been an impossible dream. Until it turned into a reality that was even better than the dream ever was.

He had believed himself to be a good slave, then. Until he realized that he was feeling in ways a slave shouldn’t feel. And only after he had fallen in love for a second time he had realized that he had fallen in love for a first time, years ago. _Torveld_ , he thought with a feeling of pride and fondness and only slight regret and _Kallias_ with a misplaced feeling of betrayal and faint longing and an ache to his gut that made him deeply uncomfortable.

 

Then, one night Erasmus had told Torveld that he would like to marry him. He was not himself that night, drugged out of his mind. Still, it was a bad thing to do.

After that night something had shifted in their relationship. There was an element of unease that hadn’t been there before. First, Erasmus didn’t notice the change much but then he realized that Torveld was drunk more often. And he was drugging Erasmus more and more often.

When Erasmus remarked that it wasn’t necessary, Torveld said that while he did intend to take pleasure in Erasmus he didn’t want to hurt Erasmus more than was necessary. Erasmus didn’t understand. Torveld had been as gentle as ever. He always made sure that he gave Erasmus pleasure. He never ever hurt him in the slightest. Unless Torveld counted _keeping Erasmus a slave_ as an instance of _hurting Erasmus_. And then Torveld had said something that made no sense: _I love you_.

Startled, Erasmus replied with the first line that came to mind: _This slave lives to serve you_. For that, Torveld hit Erasmus across the face. That truly was the only time Torveld ever hurt Erasmus. And it didn’t hurt much. Not after Vere. But it reminded Erasmus of Vere and Erasmus began to cry. Then, Torveld told Erasmus for the second and last time that he loved him. It made even less sense than the first time. But this time Erasmus thought a little before replying and his reply was that he loved Torveld, too. Surprisingly, that did make sense. Since it was true. Or it felt true. To Erasmus.

That night, the night of the I-love-you’s that made no sense, was the second night that changed Erasmus’ life in Bazal.

His daily routine didn’t change much but he was moved from the harem to a small locked chamber of his own. The chamber was nicely decorated and full of books and musical instruments that must have cost Torveld a fortune. But it was incredibly lonely. Worst of all Erasmus wasn’t needed to serve in the great hall any longer. Then Torveld offered him a reward the next time Erasmus asked for some company. To see some of his slave friends again. To exchange ideas with a famous patran poet who was visiting at the palace. But Torveld said: _I can’t stand other people looking at you_. And: _If you had the chance you wouldn’t choose me. I can’t stand you looking at other people._

That day Erasmus had felt like he wanted to run. But that was wrong. He wanted to please his master. He _lived_ to please his master. And what Torveld was demanding of him was nothing a master could not demand of a slave. He wasn’t cruel. Not like people in Vere. When Erasmus was in training he had learned that he should not aspire to live in the world. Torveld was only keeping him out of the world a little more strictly than most masters. It was inconvenient but it was not a problem.

From time to time Erasmus thought about Isthima, but Isthima seemed farer away than ever. From time to time he thought about the way Torveld had looked at him when he had seen Erasmus for the first time, the lust in his eyes. Something from that time was lost now and it was lost forever.

 

For once, Erasmus wasn’t in a royal bed getting kissed and caressed and praised and being played with. This time, Erasmus was free.

Shivering in a chiton that barely deserved the name clothing and scared to death Erasmus could imagine why King Damianos had desired freedom while Erasmus had not. For King Damianos freedom had meant being cared for by an army of servants and slaves. Walking around in the finest clothes and eating only the finest of foods. It meant having men at command and a boyfriend who would say: _Yes, I do_.

For Erasmus freedom was this. Freedom was the forest. Scary and wild and quite possibly deadly. And yet. There was a small smile on Erasmus’ lips. He had no idea what would cause him to smile. Except for insanity maybe. Or, and that was a _daring_ thought, possibilities.

Now, briefly, he could see himself kissing Kallias and making love to him and sitting in the sun with Kallias as long as he liked and that – he had never thought about that like this, not without feeling guilt, and he was feeling guilt now because of his thoughts, but it was not only guilt. It was also hope and that was something.

Erasmus had no idea where Kallias was. If Kallias was alive. And yet those fantasies had all of a sudden turned way more _possible_ than they ever were when he and Kallias were so close they could touch and almost read each other’s minds. And yet couldn’t exchange more than rubbing of their cheeks.

Erasmus was free and freedom was frightening. Way more frightening than the forest and almost as frightening as the fire. But sometimes, Erasmus figured, it was good to be frightened.


End file.
